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The marble floor of the grand ballroom seemed to tilt under Giana’s feet. She did not blink. When a woman like Giana Costa spent a decade building an impenetrable wall out of charcoal wool and bureaucratic stoicism, tearing it down in a single night felt like stepping off a skyscraper. / Chapter 10 / 10

Chapter 10 - The Legacy of FerraroFive years later.

The headline on the front page of the Chicago Tribune read: THE FERRARO FOUNDATION PLEDGES $100 MILLION TO CITY INFRASTRUCTURE.

Inside the article, a photograph showed two people standing on the steps of the newly renovated South Side community center.

On the left stood Alessio Ferraro, his hair touched with distinguished silver at the temples, his dark eyes sharp as ever, wearing a tailored charcoal suit.

On the right stood Giana Ferraro, radiant in a sharp, elegant crimson blazer over a black silk dress, holding a set of architectural blueprints in one hand while signing documents with the other.

The children from the neighborhood ran around them, laughing and playing in a sunlight-drenched courtyard that had once been an abandoned industrial lot.

Inside the top-floor office of Ferraro Tower, the twin desks remained side by side, perfectly organized, the ledgers balanced to the exact penny.

Dominic Russo walked in without knocking, holding a fresh cup of black coffee and a secure tablet. He took one look at Alessio and Giana reviewing the city zoning permits together, shook his head with a quiet, respectful grin, and set the coffee down on Giana’s desk first.

Because in Chicago, everyone knew the golden rule of the underworld and the boardrooms alike:

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The heavy mahogany door of the dressing room seemed to close in on us, trapping the suffocating tension inside. Richard’s hands were shaking as he clutched the small, tarnished silver pendant. His knuckles were bone-white.

The heavy mahogany door of the dressing room seemed to close in on us, t...

The heavy silver fork slipped from my fingers, clattering sharply against the gold-rimmed porcelain of my dinner plate.

The heavy silver fork slipped from my fingers, clattering sharply agains...

The heavy mahogany door of the Fairmont Copley suite clicked shut with a muffled, expensive thud.

The heavy mahogany door of the Fairmont Copley suite clicked shut with a...

Alessio Ferraro owned the city.

But Giana Costa owned Alessio.

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